


sleepover

by 14winters



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Multi, Sharing a Bed, Sleepovers, a practice in writing open interpretation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 05:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11730363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/14winters/pseuds/14winters
Summary: An impromptu sleepover at the brownstone. Originally written for liggytheauthoress on tumblr.





	sleepover

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in an AU where Joan and Sherlock both exchange letters with Kitty in the interim years after she left New York. Joan may have done some covert arm twisting and ruthless threatening with Gruner to ensure he said nothing about who had disfigured him. I love Joan threatening people who threaten/hurt her family. You know it happened. 
> 
> Also Kitty hasn’t had her baby yet. (My headcanon is that she gets a girlfriend and eventually lives in New York and she and her girlfriend-soon-to-be-wife have Archie through a sperm donor. You can’t take this away from me.)

It was Joan and Alfredo’s idea to begin with. Joan wanted Alfredo and Marcus to see Kitty when she came to visit from London the next week, and brought up the subject after Alfredo came down from a movie night up on the roof with Sherlock.

So after sorting out the logistics, which involved Sherlock moodily eating cereal in the corner and declaring they might as well invite Ms. Hudson, too, Joan sent out a group text. Which included Leona Hudson.

“You can pick the movie,” she said to Sherlock, a few hours later after dinner that night.

He was tinkering with an old radio in the lock room, while she sat on the table beside him, going through the group text on her phone.

“What possessed you to make such a generous offer,” he said, his voice flat with sarcasm. He didn’t look up at her.

“How about this,” she said, ignoring his not-really-a-question. “I give you three movies to choose from and you pick one.”

He sighed, putting down the screwdriver he’d been holding and rubbing his eyes. “The illusion of choice is still not choice, Watson, no matter how you say it.”

“What’s making you uncomfortable about this?” she said, putting down her phone and leaning back on her hands.

He looked away from her, now fiddling with the screwdriver without even looking at it. “I texted Alfredo about something earlier. I thought you should know.”

She looked off to the side, making a small nod. “Okay…tell me.”

“We thought it would be suitable for Marcus to bring alcoholic beverages, if any of you would like to partake,” he said, putting heavy stress on the ‘k’, still not looking at her. The screwdriver moved rapidly, both ends going up and down as he turned it between his thumb and index finger.

She studied his stiff profile, feeling a familiar concern well up in her. “Are you uncomfortable because Alfredo agreed? We haven’t even discussed it in the group chat yet who’s bringing what.”

He waved his left hand off to the side. “No, I have no problem with it. But I know you and Kitty used to drink together, when she lived with me and you did not.” He paused, sneaking a glance at her. She leaned up and resisted folding her arms, instead resting her hands on her knees.

“Do you think…she will be comfortable drinking around all of us?” he asked, now studying the screwdriver with an unnecessary intensity.

She tilted her head, considering. Sherlock did not just mean “all of us” as in the amount of people, but as in around two men she’d spent little time around. Marcus had eventually been apprised of Kitty’s history during the months she’d worked with them, but neither he nor Kitty had made any effort to form a close friendship. Joan knew that had been due more to Kitty, not Marcus. And Alfredo had not been apprised at all—not while Kitty had been in New York. It had only been after her sudden departure that Joan had told Alfredo the bare minimum of Kitty’s past, only to learn Alfredo had deduced much about Kitty by himself, from the handful of interactions he’d had with her. It didn’t surprise Joan—Alfredo had always been more perceptive than he let on. She’d learned that when he became Sherlock’s sponsor.

But it had been nearly two years since Kitty had been in New York. She had a new career, and from her letters and the few phone calls between them, Joan could tell Kitty was doing better. She’d even dated a bit, back in London. Not exclusively men, but that said nothing about her comfort with them, only that she wasn’t only attracted to men.

“She’s a grown woman, Sherlock. If she’s uncomfortable, she’ll tell one of us,” she said, keeping her voice calm with only a little effort.

His expression didn’t change.

“Are you more worried because you’ve never seen Kitty drunk, but you’ve seen Marcus drink more than a couple times? Marcus is not exactly a touchy feely drunk,” she said, a note of incredulity entering her voice.

“Well there was that one time—”

“That is not relevant to what we’re talking about, Sherlock,” she cut him off, knowing he wanted to change the subject, now that he was seeing her point.

“Kitty can take care of herself. You can trust her to do that,” she said evenly. “And give Marcus more credit.”

He gave her a skeptical side-eye, but kept his silence. She slid off the table, announcing she was going to pick out those three movies he could choose from.

“Again, not really a choice, Watson,” he called after her.

“Be glad I’m not picking it out. If it was up to me, we’d be watching another 007 movie. You know Alfredo loves those as much as I do,” she said over her shoulder, knowing he could hear the smirk in her voice.

Sherlock groaned behind her.

-

Sherlock eventually chose _Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens_ , because all of them were at least moderate sci-fi fans. Joan the biggest among them, though all but Sherlock and Marcus were unaware of that.  

It was arranged through the group text that Marcus would bring alcohol, Alfredo would bring chips and dip, Kitty would bring other miscellaneous snacks, and Ms. Hudson announced she would bake a surprise cake, and asked if anyone was allergic or heavily disliked anything. Alfredo said he wasn’t partial to cherries. Kitty quipped back that she’d make sure to take out all the cherry flavored lollipops just for him, to keep for herself.

The movie night ended up happening the day after Kitty arrived in New York. She was, of course, staying in one of the guest bedrooms at the brownstone. While Joan and Kitty went out that afternoon to buy snacks and more popcorn, Sherlock busied himself setting up the library for them all, bringing down the largest TV and the bluray player from the media room, hooking them up, and situating the red couch and other chairs available so no one would have to sit on the floor.  

Leona arrived first, around 6pm. She’d made a strawberry cake with homemade whipped cream frosting and fresh slices of strawberries on top. Sherlock shamelessly ate two pieces before anyone else arrived.

“You could’ve at least waited until everyone was here, Sherlock,” Joan said from the stove, carefully moving the pot of popcorn kernels over the heat.

Sherlock, knowing her peevishness was feigned, waved his whipped cream-coated spoon in a circular motion, chewing his last bite of cake. He swallowed and declared, “I deserve some compensation for the energy expended moving all those electronics and furniture, Watson. Ms. Hudson would agree with me.” And he stuck the spoon in his mouth to lick it clean. She glanced over her shoulder and found him looking defiantly back.

Kitty walked in, the stem of a Tootsie Roll Pop sticking out of her mouth. Joan guessed it was a different one than she’d seen her with ten minutes ago.

“Leona wants to know if we have any plastic silverware, Watson,” she said, coming up on Joan’s right. She gave Sherlock a perplexed look, though it was more mocking than anything. He was cleaning up the whipped cream off his plate with his index finger. 

Only Sherlock called Leona Hudson “Ms. Hudson”. Less than a week after their first meeting, Leona had given Joan permission to call her by her first name, and that’s how Joan had introduced her to Marcus, Alfredo, and eventually Kitty.  

“Hmm, I keep them in the basement. You know that small closet by the desk? They’re on the middle shelf,” Joan said, moving to pour the finished popcorn into a large bowl on the counter.

“Got it,” Kitty said, pushing away from the counter and going toward the basement door. She spared Sherlock another glance. “Put on a shirt, Sherlock, we’re having company.”

Sherlock just looked after her. Kitty’s booted steps sounded on the stairs. “I’m the company, Sherlock!” she yelled, her footsteps fading away.

Sherlock turned to Joan, munching quietly on popcorn, not bothering to hide her smirk.

“Since when has Kitty been concerned with modesty?” Sherlock said, getting up to take his plate and spoon to the sink.

“I think she’d rather not see your hickeys,” Joan said, trying to stifle her laughter around a mouthful of popcorn. Sherlock turned to her, raising an eyebrow, and she pointed at one of them with a buttery finger. “There,” she said. “And there,” she repeated, pointing to one over his collarbone.

“And there,” she said, reaching over to the other side of his neck and poking him gently, her words ending on a laugh.

He didn’t dodge away, but continued staring at her bemusedly, his eyes narrowing.

She raised her brows, picking up two more pieces of popcorn and popping one in her mouth. “I notice you don’t have any mirrors around here,” she said, waving her index finger in a vague circular motion.

His mouth twitched, and he turned to go into his bedroom.

-

Two hours, and another last minute run to the store later, the movie was finally started. Kitty had begged for spiked banana smoothies, after Marcus had brought Straw-Ber-Rita, among vodka, tequila, and other beverages for mixing. Marcus and Joan had made the run together, and bought limes and strawberries along with the bananas. She, Marcus, and Kitty had had tequila shots in the kitchen while Leona sipped wine up in the library and asked Alfredo about his recent escapades in preventing car thievery.

Joan ended up coming upstairs last, after making a second bowl of popcorn (she and Sherlock had ended up eating most of the first), and carefully fitting all the alcohol in a fridge filled with too much take-out and various raw materials Sherlock used in experiments, edible and inedible.

The bowl of popcorn under her left arm, and her own screwdriver in her right hand, Joan walked into the library to find the unfamiliar sight of everyone but Sherlock standing and milling about. Leona, Kitty, and Alfredo were all gathered at one of the bookshelves, Alfredo sipping on a Dr. Pepper, Kitty a margarita, and Leona with her second glass of wine. Alfredo was silently flipping through one of the books, while Kitty was offering Leona M&Ms and pointing out which books Sherlock had made her read and why, in a voice that was only a little too loud.

Sherlock sat cross-legged in the middle of the red couch, the stems of not one but three Dum Dums sticking out of his mouth, the corresponding wrappers and two other bags of candy strewn on either side of him. He wore the shirt that read “Open 24 Hours” now along with his sweatpants, his feet bare, and she was amused to find his toenails painted orange and pink.

Marcus was leaning over the back of the couch, looming over Sherlock’s right shoulder, gesturing to the menu Sherlock had up on the television with the hand holding his beer. “We are not watching the movie with Chinese subtitles, Holmes. At least choose something like Spanish, Joan and I can speak that near fluently.”

“I am fluent. In both. But that’s irrelevant. Why are your toes painted, Sherlock?” Joan said, setting the popcorn down on the couch so she could take the bag of candy closest to her and deposit it in Sherlock’s lap. Then she sat down with the popcorn bowl in her lap, taking a sip of her screwdriver.

Sherlock took two of the Dum Dums out of his mouth. Joan saw that they were, of course, two different flavors. “Kitty needed to practice,” he said, not taking his eyes off the screen as he dug a Reeses cup out of the bag she’d just thrown at him, only to hand it to Marcus, who took it wordlessly.

Joan took one of Sherlock’s Dum Dums out of his hand and put it in her mouth. Mmm, watermelon, her favorite. He looked at her, mock offended. “I was doing an experiment with those,” he said, as Marcus silently laughed behind him.

“You’re acting six years old,” she said around the Dum Dum. “Eat one thing at a time.”

“I’m not taking the other one,” Marcus said, raising his hand, palm out, in a “back off” motion when Sherlock glanced at him. Sherlock stuck the second Dum Dum back in his mouth, throwing that defiant look at her again. “I didn’t ask you to,” he said, the words muffled around the two pieces of candy.

“Sherlock, why do you have so many books on Chinese medicine?” Kitty said, much louder, as she sauntered over to sit on the arm of the couch beside Joan, holding her drink aloft. Joan took a long sip of her screwdriver and looked at Sherlock, who still didn’t take his eyes from the screen, pressing the arrow buttons on the remote but choosing nothing.

“I bought them for Watson,” Sherlock said, finally choosing the Spanish subtitles, then going back to the main menu to press “play”. Joan let out a dry laugh.

Joan caught the knowing smirk on Kitty’s face just before someone turned the lights out, leaving only the television screen emitting its dim glow. It must’ve been Alfredo—he was the only one besides Kitty who had been here enough times to know where all the light switches were.

Peripherally, Joan saw Kitty and Marcus settle on the small couch that was usually next to the stairs, now on Joan’s left side closer to the lock room. Leona sat in one of the armchairs situated on the red couch’s right side, near the windows, and Alfredo came to sit on the other side of Sherlock, the same book still in his hands. He whispered something to Sherlock about it that Joan couldn’t catch over the movie’s iconic opening music.

Marcus ended up taking the remote from Sherlock less than thirty minutes in, because Sherlock wouldn’t stop pausing to ask rhetorical questions or debate the Spanish translation. Sherlock asking about the plausibility of the Millennium Falcon’s flight paths was the last straw. Alfredo was too busy laughing to do anything, Kitty was also in a fit of giggles, and Leona only smiled tranquilly, eating a bowl of fresh strawberries and whispering to Alfredo now and then, making him laugh harder. Joan found the little alcohol she’d had made her patience stretch farther, and she just looked on silently munching popcorn (that Kitty took from her the next minute) as Marcus got up when Sherlock paused with the Millennium Falcon mid-flight for the third time.

“Is this your first movie night with Sherlock, Marcus?” Alfredo asked, his huge smile evident in his words, his eyes following Marcus as he sat back down next to Kitty, remote firmly in hand.

“Yes,” Marcus said tersely. Kitty giggled around her fistful of popcorn. “Does he always do this?”

“It’s even worse with the 007 movies,” Alfredo said mildly, getting up presumably to get another Dr. Pepper. “Anyone need a refill? Joan?” he said, passing her first.

She handed him her nearly empty glass. “Less vodka, please,” she said, smiling at him. He winked.

Kitty asked for whatever was left of the banana Straw-Ber-Rita smoothie, and Leona got up to go with him. “No need for you to be the only server when more than one of us is moderately sober,” she said, giving her easy smile and moving smoothly past towards the kitchen door, taking Kitty’s empty margarita glass with her. “Don’t ask any more physics questions without me,” she called, glancing back at Sherlock. He raised his Tootsie Roll Pop in acknowledgment. Grape flavored—he knew Joan hated those.

As Alfredo and Leona’s steps retreated downstairs, Joan turned to Sherlock, surprised he was only eating the one Tootsie Roll Pop now. “Experiment over?” she said, taking out a Reeses cup only because it was the candy closest to her.

“We’re out of watermelon,” he said, side-eyeing her.

She rolled her eyes. “You never explained why Kitty needed to practice painting your toenails,” she said, glancing over at Kitty who was picking the nail polish on the thumb of one hand and eating popcorn with the other. The popcorn bowl now sat between Kitty and Marcus, and they each reached in at intervals, Marcus taking decidedly bigger handfuls, but only putting one piece in his mouth at a time.

Kitty locked eyes with her, then looked at Sherlock, who was getting ready to answer when he noticed Kitty’s deer-in-the-headlights look.

Sherlock took his Tootsie Roll Pop out of his mouth. “Kitty ha—” Sherlock began, but a piece of popcorn flew across the room and hit him on the chest.

“You did that on purpose!” Kitty yelled. Joan looked quickly between them. Sherlock only looked mildly amused. Kitty wasn’t exactly panicking—she was furious.

“You knew Watson would ask about it if you didn’t wear socks! You _never_ go barefoot!” Kitty said, lowering her volume only a little, but throwing a whole handful of popcorn this time. Marcus looked on a little wistfully.

“I was going to say,” Sherlock said, speaking more slowly, not taking his eyes from Kitty, “that Kitty has something to tell you, but she will tell you in her own time.” And he put the Tootsie Roll Pop back in his mouth with a resounding click of hard candy against teeth. Alfredo and Leona could be heard coming back up the stairs. Joan took a piece of popcorn that was on Sherlock’s thigh and popped it into her mouth.

-

The rest of the movie passed without much incident. At least two more beers, one glass of wine, and one Straw-Ber-Rita were consumed between the four of them that could drink. Sherlock continued to whisper commentary, more to himself, but also to Joan, knowing she was more wont to listen than Alfredo. Eventually she took out her phone to text him to shutup and watch the movie. He texted back:

_Wnt to kno w i chose spnsh sub?_

_No_

_Bc you nd prctc rding spnsh_

_No I don’t. You need more practice reading Mandarin_

_No i dnt_

_Liar_

He tossed a Dum Dum at her. Orange flavor. Her second favorite. Also went wonderfully with her screwdriver. She tucked her phone away and smiled at his profile. He pretended to be indifferent. She nudged him with her shoulder. He nudged her back. She handed him a Reeses, her fingers brushing his palm.

-

By the time the credits rolled, only Joan, Sherlock, and Alfredo were awake. Marcus had ended up with the bowl of popcorn in his lap, his head resting on the back of the small couch, mouth slightly agape. Kitty was curled up in the fetal position, her head tucked against her left shoulder and her sock-clad feet pressed against the outside of Marcus’s thigh. Leona had fallen asleep with her chin resting in her left hand, her golden head resting against the raised side of the armchair. Joan felt she was on an island for a moment, a strange island surrounded by the Sandman and his invisible sleep-inducing magic. She stifled a yawn, asking herself if she’d really drank that much.

Alfredo leaned over and asked both of them, “Should we wake them?” his eyes wide and questioning. Joan covered her mouth to stifle another yawn and shook her head, at the same time Sherlock said, “No.”

“No one is fit to count money for a taxi tonight,” Sherlock said, unfolding his legs and getting up to retrieve the remote from Marcus’s sleeping form. He found it tucked on Marcus’s left side, between him and the couch’s arm. After turning off the bluray player and TV, Sherlock headed downstairs, probably to get pillows and blankets.

“I should at least clear this couch for Marcus, he can’t sleep like that. And Leona…” Joan bit her lip, her alcohol-infused mind slower to come up with a solution than she would like.

“Marcus is shorter than Leona, right? He can sleep on that smaller couch,” Alfredo said, getting up and gathering Dr. Pepper cans and Joan’s empty glass. “Where is Kitty sleeping?” he asked, taking the cans and glass to the red table in the lock room.

“She’s in the guest room next to the bathroom,” Joan said, getting up slowly, noticing some dizziness, and gathering various candy wrappers and the stems of Tootsie Roll Pops and Dum Dums that had been scattered by, well, everyone. She got what she could off the red couch and the floor surrounding it, so Leona wouldn’t have to sleep in them.

“Is Kitty a heavy sleeper?” Alfredo came up next to her, whispering, since he was practically right next to where Kitty was sleeping.

Joan nodded. “Especially after she’s been drinking,” she said, recalling those many late nights and late mornings at her apartment two years ago.

Alfredo nodded back, and Joan was only a little surprised when he went over and gathered the sleeping Kitty in his arms, lifting her without a sign of effort. Kitty only murmured a little, but remained asleep, her head resting on Alfredo’s shoulder. Joan went to Leona’s side as Alfredo headed up the stairs.

It didn’t take much to wake the other woman. Joan had barely touched her shoulder when Leona’s head lifted and she focused on Joan, her eyes a little fuzzy with sleep and wine.

“We’re getting the couch ready for you,” Joan whispered, hearing Sherlock’s steps approaching behind her. She glanced over to see him carrying over two pillows and two blankets. He set one of each on the red couch before going over to Marcus.

Joan turned back when she felt Leona’s hand on hers, which Joan was dismayed to discover was still resting on Leona’s shoulder. But Leona was smiling. “Thank you, Joan,” she said, her tired voice holding that warm sincerity Leona used so effortlessly.

Joan straightened and stepped back as Leona go to her feet and deftly moved to the couch, placing the pillow on the end closest to the window and draping the blanket over herself in two smooth motions that Joan found herself transfixed by. She felt a wave of dizziness wash over her again, and shook her head.

She looked up to find Sherlock staring at her, his hands behind his back as if he’d been waiting. He rocked on his heels once. She leaned to the side, unnecessarily, to look at Marcus, still sleeping. Sherlock had somehow managed to get a pillow under the detective’s head, and the blanket neatly tucked around him, without Marcus moving a muscle. Only the relocation of the popcorn bowl to the floor showed Sherlock had actually moved anything.

“How did you—” she began in a loud whisper, but cut herself off as Alfredo came back down the stairs.

“Alfredo, I pulled out my futon for you,” Sherlock said, raising himself up on his toes briefly as he spoke, that hopeful, open look on his face that Joan recognized as his attempt at looking hospitable. It was far too endearing, especially this late at night.

“Thanks, Sherlock,” Alfredo said, giving them both a soft smile before waving Goodnight and heading downstairs.

“He didn’t want to head home this late either?” Joan asked, softly stepping through the room to turn off the foyer light that Sherlock had briefly switched on after the movie ended. She heard Sherlock following behind her as she headed upstairs.

“During the movie Alfredo informed me he’d rather stay and help us clean up in the morning,” Sherlock whispered back as they reached the landing. Joan stopped and turned to look at him.

“Where are you sleeping?” she said, realizing she was asking very belatedly. Without a case to focus on, and not having indulged in any alcohol for months, Joan felt her thoughts were several minutes behind real time. The smile twitching briefly on Sherlock’s mouth told her he was noticing too.

“I likely will not,” he answered, then put his hand out in front of him, indicating she keep going up. She turned and kept going, but said over her shoulder, “It’s too cold in the basement this time of year, you should take a guest room.”

Her voice came out uneasy, and she was confused by it, pausing as she reached her bedroom door, turning to look at him again. He still had that open, almost innocent look on his face, what she could only describe as puppy dog eyes. But he wasn’t asking her for anything. He simply stood in the hallway, waiting, his hands in loose fists at his sides.

Then she realized. “I feel fine, Sherlock,” she said, leaning against the doorjamb and folding her arms, hoping her expression was patient.

“I noticed your spells of dizziness downstairs,” he said, uncertain, looking away from her briefly, then back.

She gave him a suspicious look then. “Is this about Marcus being here?” she said, remembering his irrational jealousy just over a year ago.

His eyes widened with what seemed genuine surprise. “No, Watson! Your alcohol consumption must have made you irrational,” he said, echoing her own thought back at her. “You know Marcus and I have settled our petty squabbles long before this.”

She laughed softly, glancing away from him, nodding her agreement. “True. Then why are you acting like this? What are you worried about?” she said, looking back, hoping to catch a telling change in expression.

He was looking away, searching his mind for words that might fool her. “I wanted to make sure you made it up the stairs,” he said, lifting his chin and trying to look down his nose, but the late hour and high sugar consumption had taken much of his usual confidence.

“Sherlock,” she said indulgently, biting her lip in a vain attempt to hold back her smile.

He blinked a few times, locked eyes with her, and took a quick but deep breath. “I am a little uneasy with so many people in the house, and would not feel at ease occupying myself in the small hours with others nearby whose sleeping habits are strange to me. And though I don’t think I could sleep, I would like to stay close to you to retain something of the…” He took another breath and closed his mouth, searching her face.

“Familiar?” she finished, her voice coming out soft, uneasy again.

He nodded once, raising his right hand briefly in acknowledgement. “Yes. Familiar. Normalcy,” he stated, his feet shuffling, his thumbs moving in and out of his fisted hands. He was focused on a point over her left shoulder, clenching his teeth in what she recognized as embarrassment.

It took her a few seconds longer than usual to bank down the urge to reach out to him. She stepped aside and turned on her bedroom light. “Come on then,” she said, pushing her hair behind her ear and trying not to smile too much. It must be the alcohol making her feel so giddy all of a sudden.

He sat on the floor at the foot of her bed, focused convincingly on his phone while she changed into pajamas in front of her closet. When he heard her pull back the covers and climb into bed, he shot up to turn off her light. Then he stood uncertainly at her bedside, tapping his phone against his thigh. She turned to lay on her right side, looking up at him.

“You can get on my bed, Sherlock,” she said, only sounding a little teasing. She knew he didn’t like to assume.

He slowly did so, lying flat on his back above the comforter. His face was illuminated in the complete darkness as he turned on his phone, inches away from his nose. He had a subtly uncomfortable expression, his brows drawn together. On his phone, she recognized the home page of one of the conspiracy theory forums he liked to entertain himself with. He scrolled almost too quickly for a few seconds, probably just feeling her watching him.

“You should sleep, Watson,” he said, not looking away from his phone. “My phone is on its lowest brightness, if you’re wondering.”

“Your phone doesn’t bother me,” she said. Sleep tugged at her eyelids, sobriety easing back into her consciousness, making for a confusing mix of determination and nervousness.

“What bothers me is that you didn’t tell me the truth,” she said, her voice going a degree softer.

He stopped scrolling, but still didn’t look at her. “About what?”

“About how you felt about tonight,” she said, her confidence growing. “You weren’t worried about Kitty as much as you were about yourself.”

The line between his eyes disappeared as his features went from discomfort to a mask of indifference. He was scrolling again.

“I did not see it as a serious issue,” he finally said, his voice almost a whisper. He tapped a thread, scanned the first few posts, went back, scrolled some more.

She tucked her hands beneath her head, watched how he frowned, likely berating himself.

“It doesn’t matter how serious it is, it matters that you tell me,” she said.

He said nothing, but his thumbs stopped moving. He turned off his phone, plunging them into total darkness.

“Pot calling the kettle black, Watson,” he said, his words breaking through darkness and silence with an abruptness that betrayed his fear.

“Hey,” she said, her tone soothing. She moved closer to him and carefully laid her hand on his shoulder, slowly relaxing her fingers against his warmth. He stiffened for the briefest of seconds, then relaxed.

“We’re working on that,” she whispered, her voice hardening with resolve. He hummed, thoughtful, not skeptical.

“How about, when you want to tell me something, you don’t disguise it as worrying about someone else?” she said, keeping her voice at a whisper, hopefully convincing him she was not upset. Not really.

He reached up to rest his hand over hers, his fingers tapping out an unsteady rhythm. “And in exchange, will you tell me more about this crush you have on Ms. Hudson?” he asked, his voice far too innocent.

Her eyes widened in the darkness. She scoffed, but didn’t take her hand away. He continued, “I believe it is reciprocated.”

“Sherlock Holmes, I’m going to sleep. And you will not say a word about that to anyone until I say so,” she said, her fingers clenching on his shoulder to emphasize her words.

He gave a low chuckle. “I can keep secrets, Watson,” he said. She could just see the smirk on his face.

“Right. You just have to advertise you’re keeping them,” she deadpanned.

“If this in reference to Kitty—”

“It is.”

“—my only thought was that her hard work deserved to be appreciated.”

Joan stifled her laughter against her pillow. “I hope we get to meet her.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Mhm. Goodnight, Sherlock,” she said, still smiling. She took her hand from beneath his, grudgingly. But her heartbeat slowed at the brush of his fingers over hers, even as she pulled away.

“Goodnight, Watson,” he said, and she could hear him smiling too.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this with my own polyamorous headcanons in mind (which are…pretty much everyone but Kitty and Alfredo are poly), but I also tried to write it in a way where it could be interpreted many ways, no matter who you ship, or don’t ship. I hope I succeeded. Let me know in the comments!


End file.
